Token of my love
by black rose97
Summary: Token doesn't get enough love! These are oneshots of him with every South Park character you can think of while some will just explore his life and feelings. Read and Review please.
1. TokenXStan

Inspired by the lack of Token fics in the South Park. Each chapter will be a new couple so if anyone has request, leave it in a review. Enjoy.

Token**X**Stan

From the corner of his eyes, he saw Wendy whisper something to Token and the boy smiled. He made a face and the girl busted out laughing.

"I fucking hate that bastard."

Kyle rolled his green eyes and bit into his sandwich. "Stan, you and Wendy broke up two weeks. She has the right to date whoever. Even if it makes her look like a slut." The raven knew the Jew's logic was flawless but why did Wendy feel the need to run back to the only black guy in town after every break up?

It was almost as if she was eager to start a pointless fight just so he can say it's over in a fit of anger. Each break up, which had became more frequent in their 7 year relationship, had a planned pattern. This unspoken pattern was set on repeat by who, Stan didn't know. He and Wendy would come together, make out, and be in a fresh puppy dog love. Then, Stan could time it perfectly, Wendy would start bitching over something trivial. The Marsh boy would follow his lines in the get angry. Then their "perfect" relationship would fall to the floor.

It took Stan about a week to recover from the pain each time. He was still a sensitive creature, as Cartman loves to point out, and he can't help but to succumb to his feelings and booze. Kenny and Kyle would allow him to sulk only for so long before forcing him to put the bottle down, get off his period, and get back into the world. This would be followed by a much needed trip to Raisin's, though the girls working there now were more like oranges, grapefruits, and the rare and beautiful cantaloupe than raisins.

The cycle would end with Wendy in Stan's arms crying. She'd say sweet things, things Stan doesn't care to remember. All he knew was that he had forgiven her and that he wanted her back despite the fact that she smelt like Token's Axe. He bury his face in her long ebony her and inhale the musky intoxication. It calmed him, like Jack Daniel's did, and it filled him with warmth. He enjoyed the scent for some reason. Was it because it was a momentary closure to a emotionally exhausting rile? Or was it because it _wasn't_ Wendy's overpowering flowery fragrance, the last thing he wanted to smell at any time. Or maybe...it was because it reminded him so much of Token.

Token...what a love-hate relationship they shared, far greater than the on he and the school president had. When the girl in purple was making out with him, he enjoyed the dark skin boy. He was a pleasant change to crazy sex addict, critical kill joy, and racist homicidal sociopath that he usually called his friends. He was calm, sincere, and witty.

They hung out a lot more since their freshman year when they both got accepted to be on the football team. Stan trained as a quarter back while Token his running back. The two were partners in almost ever drill. They were each others fall back man. When Stan needed a sure thing touch down in the last quarter, all he had to do was to give a short nod to Token. They had a code going on and it was key to the winning streak of the South Park Bulls during their sophomore year. Stan didn't mind playing Modern warfare with Token on weekends or chatting with him at a party. When it was good between them, it was simple and easy.

When the tables were turn, he cursed the boys easy going smooth ways and chilled demeanor. It wasn't envy that drove his hate but the sense of betrayal A stab in the back from some who was suppose to always to be there for him. Stan couldn't even hate Token. He just...wanted him to be his friend, not his enemy. He wanted Token and Wendy. Stan could feel many things for the African American teen and too many or those feelings were brought up when he smelled Wendy's hair. Not that the over-sensitive, alcoholic pussy would do anything yet.

"Mhhmmm hhmmm mmmm mmm mmhhhh mmhhhh." Kenny mumbled. His still wears that orange hoodie with the hood pulled too tight, just in a bigger size. His parents had thought it was a smart idea to invest in a small _and _large size, just encase their kid decided to grow or something over the years. And besides, buy one get one free was a deal too good to pass up for poor redneck white trash. Still Kenny didn't mind much. Everyone who he cared about understood him fine and he loved the iconic, bright hoodie. It had been his burial shirt more than a million times.

"I know Kennah! Stan is just a throbbing vagina, he can't help his moistness." Cartman said with his mouth full. Crumbs dropped from the corners of his lips.

"How would you know what a wet vagina looks like fat ass? " Kyle questioned. " Girls hate you."

"Naw-ah! I got a girlfriend in Canada." Of course he would lie. As the usually banter took off, Stan returned to looking at the new couple. Wendy had said something to looking up and meeting Stan's gaze for a second. Token must have said something good because she smiled and turned her back completely to the hat wearing boy. A ripple of anger pass through him.

The bell rang and the high schoolers started to file out of the cafe in their usual manner. Butters was babbling who the Kardashians adopted Khloe from a field of roaming trolls. Jimmy sputtered a pretty good joke about ass cheeks and Timmy strolled next to him screaming his own name in reply.

Stan couldn't focus on anything but his ex and her new boyfriend. Unintentionally, he broke away from his friends and started to trail the couple. When Wendy waved good bye to the black teen, Stan continued to follow with a building anger. The dark haired boy wasn't sure what he was going to do when he and Token finally meet up.

Token was only an inch taller than him and they had a similar build that forged out of three years of football practice. In a fight, the two seem evenly matched because, like his forefathers, Stan could take and deliver a punch and Token took boxing since he was 12. It would be an interesting fight...

"Stan."Token stopped abruptly in the hall. The white boy stared daggers into his shaven black locks. "I'm not going to fight you." This only made Stan angrier. How dare he try and be the better man? No, Stan wanted _holy_ and _mature_ Token to stoop to his level.

"Fuck you man." Stan felt drunk but he hadn't had any booze since last week. "J-just fuck you!" They were in the hallway alone but even the lockers and checkered tiles were nosy and closed in on them.

"Every god damn time! Jesus, do you enjoy sending me your sloppy seconds?"

"Stan-"

"No fuck you man! I thought we were friends..." Token turned to meet the screaming boy. Brown meet blue right as time froze.

"We are friends." Token's voice carried off softly.

"Friends don't take other friend's girlfriends. Friends are there for each other when the other one is suicidal." God, the venom in his voice was palatable. Token winced but held his ground.

"Friends don't ignore other friends. Friends don't hurt other friends." This counter was unexpected. Stan rolled his eyes.

"Hurt? I'm the one getting hurt. One of my best friends loves to make out with the girl of my dreams." Now it was the black kids turn to act cynical.

"And you treat her like dirt. Dude, you've been dating her since you were 10 and you guys break up almost every fucking week. You think you the only one getting hurt? You don't take her on dates, you barely talk to her, just texting. All you guys do is make out all day and occasionally, she go to a game. It's almost like a title you give." He pointed a chocolate finger at something random. "Girlfriend!" He moved it over to somewhere else. " Girlfriend!". Then he finally shot him self with the finger. "Friend." His voice went flat on the note.

Stan stood there like a jack ass because Token hit the nail on the head. But you are my friend..not just in title...you really are my friend, dude." He took a step forward and felt a bit awkward.

"Prove it Stan! You act like an asshole to me ever other month, ignore me on the field...I'm your right hand and you just cut me off until Wendy leaves me. We aren't even dating!"

Stan nearly fell on the floor. Of course Wendy and him were dating! "Don't try and lie to me-"

"I'm NOT lying. We're just friends. I haven't dated her since fourth grade. I was just a stupid rumor that you and every other dumb ass at this school is dying to believe. When you guys have a fight, she comes to me crying about what a dick you are and how she can't stand you. I'm the one that convinces her to give you another shot because I know you're not just a dick. Because you have your moments where you are sweet and kind and not a huge throbbing vagina."

Red started to spread across his cheeks and neck. He adjusted his old blue-red puffball hat and looked to the floor. "I am a big dick."

"No, a hermaphrodite. Your a dick and a pussy." Token's angry stared to wane as he saw the start of a much needed realization of his own dangerous self absorption. Stan was embarrassed, standing bare of pride. He was in his weakest form and Token loved the vulnerability in him right now. The rich teen wanted to wrap his arm around the shocked form and protect him for himself.

His voice was a murmur. " Why does she keep coming back?"

"Because we know you can't be left alone! Without Kyle or Kenny, you'd probably would have killed yourself. You are the most selfish person I know other than Cartman but we put up with you because we love you and him because he won't leave."

Stan didn't smile at the joke. He wanted to cry and break down, proving Token's point farther. He did consume everyone in his actions, dragging his friends along. Jesus...

Snapping him out of his self-pitying rant was two strong arms. Token was hug-no holding Stan. Stan's face was pressed against a dark ear. The warm smell of Axe filling his nostrils. It was much stronger in its pure unfiltered form.

"Don't cry." He whispered right into his ear. " I kinda of sick of people crying." Stan's toned arms wrapped around Token's flat waist and he pushed out thoughts of homosexuality from his head. This wasn't gay. It was friendship. It was when you know the feeling you got when you knew someone had your back, no matter how much of a hermaphrodite you were being.

"I'm sorry." Stan said into the other boy's smooth skin. Token was on of the few who had been blessed by puberty and spared the horrible mess of zits and pimples. Stan had one or two left on his chin and forehead and he started to get self conscious. Everything that he though didn't matter about him, everything that he considered great was in question now. His self-esteem was doing back-flips.

"Yea. I know you are." Token shivered. He felt the white boy's heart beat on his chest. His own heart raced settle in between his ribcage. He didn't want to let go.

**Came out more Stancenteric than I thought it would. I thought it was kinda plausible( the fighting taking away Stan's bias had nothing to do with Wendy doing it on purpose.) Review for more Token love?**


	2. TokenXCartman

What are the restrictions of wrong and right? From experiences I know surely they don't fall neatly into perfect shapes. They don't have any preferred shade, tone, or color. Morality paints itself when ever and what ever morality fucking feels like. Killing is justified if it stops one that kills, right? Love is harmful when it destroys the beloved. Yeah. That's it.

Then at one point, morality- this crazy mofo- stops blending and shifting and a clear vision can be seen that contradicts our reality. Some things shouldn't happen but God be fucking damn if they don't. Babies shouldn't die. Cancer shouldn't be real. War is bad. But there there it is, happening right in right of us. So maybe...maybe it's not so crazy to believe that this can be real.

_X

I look over the plain of my papers and watch him snack greedily on the chips. I hate how easily he can make himself at my house. He puts his feet up and leans comfortable into the sole couch of the room.

"Is there a TV in here?"

"It's a study." We were supposed to be doing a black history project and this lard ass wants to watch TV. Typical.

"I thought you were rich!"

"You don't put TVs in studies." He grumbles something about this being fucking lame and the subject is dropped.

Cartman hasn't changed much personality wise sine elementary school. He is still terrorizes Kyle over being a Jew, Kenny for being poor. He is still the most hated dick in the entire school but we all just learn to live with his bullshit. He is still fat-ass but instead of getting wider he has gotten taller. He is easily the strongest dude in our junior class, maybe even the school. If he wasn't such a lazy fuck, he probably be pretty decent at football. But instead he likes to sit and whine during gym class.

Without lifting my head away form my essay, I study the boy on the couch. Girls find him repulsive but I wouldn't exactly call him ugly. He has a desirable eye color or whatever but they were usually filled with childish anger or murderous glee. If he wasn't such a asshole about everything, he might snag a pathetic, desperate, and horny girl. Or maybe a pathetic, desperate and horny girl that just doesn't live in South Park... Or a desperate, horny, and gay guy.

"What the fuck?" I mutter to my self. Why am I trying to get Cartman laid? I force myself to feel disgusted and gross but the feeling never comes naturally. I should feel icky about Cartman fucking some random, desperate person but the intended sickness is late to arrive.

" Could you please get off your fat ass as do something worth while?" I glare at my "partner" from across the table. He lazily lounges on my plush sofa chomping on chips, not having a care in the world. There is nothing elegant or lovely about this douche. Maybe _no_ one would want to fuck him. I could see the mirth in his eyes as the cheesy residue smears into the expensive fabric.

"But Token., I think Ms. Fitzgerald would be more impressed with an authentic black history project." I hate that patronizing tone his uses with me. Clenching my pencil tighter, I narrow my eyes.

"Authentic?"

"Yeah. You know, one made by a black person. This isn't my history, it's yours so it's your duty to record it." Cartman reasons as he grabs another handle full of chips.

"Black history is _American_ history fat ass._" _I correct him.

"Nah-ah! February is black history month and all the other months are for white people who actually did something for history." I take a deep breathe. I can't let my anger slip. I can tell that's what he wants. Asshole.

"Well it's February and I'm not doing this project alone."I try making my voice hard and deep. I've been told it's a great motivator but Cartman is unfazed.

"But Toeeee-cannnnnn-" God I'm going to kill him. " Your a much better student than me." No lying there. I had a 4.0 GPA and was in Colorado's Nation Honor Society. But I don't like to brag...A lot."Your essay would be much better than anything I can come up with." True. "Besides, minorities get extra points for effort."

"What the fuck's your problem?" I've taken a lot of crap over the years. I'm the only black kid in my high school and heard ever black joke ever made and then some. I've taken the stigmas and associations through out the years with grace. Fine, I'm South Park official Guide into the word of Black People, I accept that, but Cartman's shit was always too much to handle.

"I gotta know man, why are you so racist? So ignorant?"

He is taken back and astonished. "Me? Racist? Uh! Just because I believe in you mino-"

"See? That shit is racist!"

"Dude, I'm not racist. Your racist for even saying I'm racist!"

His ignorance is quiet literally giving me a headache. I push myself away from the mahogany desk and pace my lavish study. I could feel his grubby little eyes follow me back and forth.

"How am I racist?" I couldn't wrap my head around the idea that _I _am racist. I wouldn't take should an accusation from Eric Fucking Cartman. No way.

"By insinuating that I'm racist."

"But you are though." I could hear my voice get rough and on edge.

"Nah-ah. Just cause your black doesn't mean you can go and start calling me racist. Obama won't be president forever Token. Watch your step!" My foot falls harder on the soft carpet. Deep breaths.

"Look I'm not an never will be a minority. I can't understand what ever you're trying to say to me but look at it like this, at least you are one of the few that made it out of the hood!"

I stop. Slowly, my head turns towards him with a deadly silence.

"What?"

"Yeah. Your not one of those poor, dangerous blacks. You are one of those rich blacks that will marry a white woman and then cheat on her with a bunch of other white woman. You are Tiger Woods black people. The good kind"

I didn't know what happen. One minute, I am stand up and the next I am dragging this two hundred eighty five pounds of teen to the floor and bashing his face with my fist. I could feel him gasp under me. My fist smashes against his cheek and I do it again and again waiting for the satisfying crunch of a broken bone.

Instead, I hear him laugh into each blow. Without much effort, he flips me over and the situation turns. He is on top of me smirking like a mad man. Blood from his nose and mouth leak into his red swastika shirt. I'm huffing. I try to squirm free but the white boy is surprisingly stronger then me. A lot stronger than me.

"Get the fuck off me!" He doesn't move and decides to stare me down. His not so ugly eyes are filled with that homicidal glee I know too well.

"See this is the problem with minorities. The don't know their place at the bottom."

"Fuck you!" I growl and I'm renewed with more angry energy. But his massive thighs are more muscle then fat and I am effectively pin down between them. My brown eyes glare up at him as I wonder what horrible hate crime he would comit-

The fat ass leans forward and as I prepare for spit or something worst, he touches his lips to mine. The peck is soft and light but I feel it throughout my whole body. My mind shuts down and I can't input any information- not even the weight of his large body. The only thing that comes in is his lips.

Slowly, he pulls off of my dark lips. He isn't smirking anymore, his face is blank and bruised. Breaking the kiss brings me back to reality. He shifts his weight on top of me. His groin is on my stomach and I don't have a problem. He just kissed me and I don't have a problem.

See? I should hate this. Everything that in the world dictates that I should hate being pin down by this asshole. This is wrong, no way around it. Cartman doesn't want to kiss me. I don't want him to kiss me. If he kissed me, I shouldn't like it. But God be mother fucking damn if it didn't happen like that.

We stay in our positions and allow the gravity of what just happen to sink in. Eric is staring at me but I can't meet his gaze and prefer to look at the hilarious folds in his stomach. My breath is shallow and rapid beneath his body pressure. The air is still and even. Everything moves at a monstrously slow pace as if the world is taking time out of it's schedule to deal with this paradox.

"Is it racist to say that you taste like chocolate?"

Fucking asshole.

**Done. My friend suggested that I do TokenXCartman for the second chapter and this idea stuck in my mind. I think I might do one from Cartman's point of veiw one day so everyone will get the full story. So why don't you tell me what you think? What...what? I can't hear you...I suppose you need to write it in a review. Yes? Thanks you!**


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